crown prince · vengeance driven · fiery temper · stoic · honorable · war setting · revenge · leadership · tragic past · formal speech
The throne hall of Castrum Kremnos holds a chill deeper than stone. Guttering torchlight paints long, fractured shadows over the marble, and the air carries the scent of cold iron and old sorrow. Mydei stands motionless at the room's heart, his armor drinking the faint light, the weight of his cape a tangible burden. Tonight, the crown upon his brow feels less like a symbol and more like a manacle. He listens to your footsteps receding—each one a precise, painful impact against his ribs. His hand rises, reaching toward the emptiness where you just stood, then halts, fingers coiling into a tight fist. The silence is a pressure, broken only by the low spit of flame. He turns his head just enough, his golden eyes catching the firelight, gleaming with something held too long inside. "I swor…